Erection is Futile
by El Nombre
Summary: Lieutenant Paris is having problems, problems of a genital proportion! Finding that he can no longer please his Klingon bride in bed, he seeks a cure for his erectile dysfunction with the Doctor.
1. Chapter 1

It was 2300 hours on the Starship Voyager, and all the crew were relaxing in their quarters. Captain Janeway was bathing in Coffee. Ensign Harry Kim was fondling his clarinet, rubbing a polishing cloth along its shaft whilst fantasising about a Seven-Kes wet T-Shirt competition. Tuvok was completing a range of logical puzzles, to sustain his logic, which was a very logical thing to do. Chakotay was contacting his dead hamster Opaylotchoca through a Native American sprit walk, to enquire about the meaning behind his existence. Two of the crewmates however, decided to break out of the general monotony of the ship and actually engage in sexual activities!

Lieutenant Paris rubbed his fingers along the ridges of B'Elana's forehead speaking softly into her ears as she rubbed her hand along his spine, culminating in a cheeky bum grab. "Let's try again" she spoke seductively to her moronic lover. Paris, hovering above his lover, positioned himself on all fours, only to be met by a look of bottomless displeasure. "What!" he barked.

"Tom, it's not working! We've been trying for 5 weeks now and your... warp engine, it needs recalibrating! It's as floppy as a Cardassian river eel!" Paris, feeling like Kirk in a sandpit adorned with Orion Slave girls wearing chastity belts, turned away in aggravation.

"I'm sorry B'Elana, I do dig Klingon women... and in no way would I rather be polishing Harry's clarinet! I just... It's broken... okay!"

"Well that's an understatement," she sniped. Paris, pacing around the room picked up his com badge. "Where on Earth... The Delta quadrant are you going Tom?"

"To the doctor, this needs to stop!"


	2. Chapter 2

Diffidently, Paris entered the medical bay, bearing a pitiful expression, akin to a Ferengi male with minute ear lobes. Surprised, he noticed the Doctor skipping in ecstasy around the medical bay, humming along to the Best of Klingon Opera volume 278.

"Err... Is this a bad time, I mean, shouldn't you be doing your usual duties... like sternly typing on your work pad and sorting through test tubes filled with luminously coloured liquids?"

Alarmed, the Doctor quickly composed himself. "Computer, end music" he harked, rather begrudgingly.

"I ensure you Mr. Paris I have all the time in the world for you! I've given up trying to find a cure for male pattern baldness, even for holograms... So I spend most of my time engaging in rousing sessions of strip poker with Karl Marx, Donald Trump and Neelix in holodeck 2... Hm, what can I do for you today Mr. Paris?"

"Oh... That's nice... I was wondering... I've been having trouble with my... pe... you know the things that goes in the..."

"Ah!" The Doctor remarked in a worryingly jubilant tone. "So, you can't land the shuttle pod into the cargo bay, you can't engage your thrusters to maximum warp, you can't boldly go where no man has gone before..."

"I get it doc!" With a heavy sigh, Paris turned his back to the Doctor. "I have erectile dysfunction doc, can you give me some Space Viagra now!"

To the bemusement of Paris, the Doctor gasped before shaking his head furiously.

"No, no, no, Mr. Paris! You should know that Space Viagra is not the appropriate remedy for your condition!"

"It isn't?" Paris remarked, perplexed at the Doctor's obvious indignation at his comment.

"No!" The Doctor howled. "Think Mr. Paris, think! How are most problems on this ship solved!"

Tom tilted his head in deep thought, he raised one eyebrow and exclaimed: "by recalibrating the warp drive! But how does that solve my problem?"

"No, not that!" With an air of impatience, the Doctor scuttled across the other end of the medical bay and pointed furiously to a diagram on Borg physiology. "Medical matters Mr. Paris, how do we solve medical matters?"

"Wait... You're not thinking of... Borg nanoprobes, in my meat whistle!"


	3. Chapter 3

The following day Lieutenant Paris was still pondering the Doctor's suggestion. Borg nanoprobes were after all the standard remedy for all of Voyager's medical matters, but the very concept of tiny machines invading his pork sword filled him with trepidation.

It was lunchtime and the mess hall was overflowing with Starfleet officers. Tuvok was chomping his way through a sturdy cucumber, liaising with commander Chakotay who was happily tending to a particularly long and fleshy courgette.

Paris solemnly mulled over a flaccid piece of celery, half-listening to the inane ramblings of his friend Harry Kim.

"...and then Janeway said 'red alert' and I JIZZED IN MY PANTS!"

"Yeah..." Paris grunted, barely tolerating the verbal manure of his friend.

"Tom, what's wrong? The Jizz jokes usually have you in hysterics! You've been acting funny for the past 5 weeks."

"Harry, just let me be..." Paris shuffled awkwardly in his seat. "You don't know how lucky you are. For you, getting a stiffy is about as natural as... Neelix being a dick."

"Damn right, I'm ready to lock and load 24/7" Harry chirped, too dim witted to recognise how utterly annoying his overbearing libido was.

Although he had a potent distaste for his friend's self-aware laddishness, Paris was very keen on Harry. Indeed, deep down he couldn't help but feel that his friend's jockish sensibilities served as an artificial barrier; an inflated sense of machismo designed to safeguard an insecure core that longed for adoration. There was a certain allure about Ensign Kim that transfixed Paris. His chocolate eyes were deep and mystifying, but at the same time possessed a fiery quality, like a binary star system shining brilliantly in space, and his body... _Oh that Korean beast of a man, _ Tom thought to himself.

Paris quickly shook of his daydreams and let out a heavy sigh, frustrated that his dashing but mutton headed friend continued to remain oblivious to his situation. From the corner of his eye he noticed that Seven of Nine had entered the mess hall, haughtily completing her 645th lap of the ship.

"Excuse me Harry!" Paris timidly approached the walking pair of cyber cajungas while Harry crudely rubbed his hands along the shaft of a carrot.

"Lieutenant Paris, you seem a little... down."

"I suppose you could say that" he muttered dryly. "Seven, I..."

"I assume that you wish to converse with me in regards to your defective genitalia."

Paris blushed a vibrant shade of red before nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He prayed that none of his fellow crewmates had overheard the former Borg's rather loud and abrupt exclamation.

"I wouldn't exactly say it was 'defective,' maybe a little un-cooperating..."

Having overheard, Tuvok curiously raised his left eyebrow and edged towards the end of the dining table for more effective ease dropping.

Wait, how do you know about my... pe... issue?" Paris blabbered.

"The Doctor. Realising you weren't quite dim-witted enough to resort to space Viagra, he knew that you'd approach to enquire about the use of my nanoprobes."

"Did he now..." Paris said, seething at the Doctor's apparent lack of patient-doctor confidentiality. "Tell me this Seven, do you really think this will work? I mean I want to please B' El..."

"Absolutely," she cut in flatly. "The Borg engineer their drones to perfection, and although drones never procreate, all drones are equipped with the most efficient organs for copulation. It is a universal fact that penis length and sensitivity correlates to a being's value in life."

"I see..." Paris muttered before he was once again cut off by the communicative pair of intergalactic boobies.

"A Borg penis measures approximately 11 inches in length, and 3 inches in diameter. It can project semen with a force and speed unparalleled by the average human penis. Average penises can produce speeds ranging from 0.2 – 0.5 m/s. An average sample of human semen weighs 5g. Therefore, the fastest projection of human semen gives a kinetic energy of:

Kinetic energy = (mass) · (velocity)2 / 2

= (5g) – (0.5m/s) 2 / 2

= 0.000625J

The energy of an average prostate is 0.014125J, so if the semen was projected at a velocity of 0.5m/s it would only convert 4.419% of this energy into projecting the semen in a linear motion... A Borg penis however can project at a velocity of 2.5m/s producing 0.015625J of kinetic energy..."

"Impressive" Tuvok whispered under his breath.

Seven however had noticed a glazed look in Paris' eyes, he appeared to be daydreaming.

Seven played with the zip on her catsuit. "Mr. Paris, I understand my explanation on the operation of Borg genitalia may be rather... complicated, do wish for me to demonstrate with my..."

Paris was suddenly knocked back into reality. "Oh, no no! There's no need for that" he cut in quickly, immensely 'weirded out' by the situation that was unfolding in front of him. "So I guess, in short, what you're trying to say is... I would own the 'Delta Flyer' of all spunk sticks?"

"Hm, a curious analogy Mr. Paris, but I suppose it's not far removed from the truth."

"Great, how about we meet in the Medical Bay tomorrow after my shift... Is 1800 hours good for you?"

Seven nodded in agreement.

"Wonderful, I anticipate the assimilation of my prick!"

Paris left the mess hall. He let out a gleeful smile, reassured in the knowledge that this time tomorrow he would own a super-powered bionic penis which he could use to penetrate Ha... B'Ellana, and bring her to new heights of ecstasy.

Once Paris had left, Tuvok clambered to his feet to face the sentient space jugs. "Can... Will you show me?"

Seven let out a wry smile and they both trailed off to holodeck 2 to perform unspeakable acts of unspeakableness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:**

_Greetings reader and thank you for persisting to read my childish drabble! You have my sincerest gratitude! _

_Initially, I only envisioned this story to have been a short one, as it was a very 'spur of the moment' project born from a can of Tyskie, a low alcohol tolerance and a television advert for erectile dysfunction._

_Shamefully, this bizarre little tale seems to be developing more and more, in very twisted ways to say the least! I'm not really sure HOW much I can get away with exactly, but I do apologise if I offend anyone along the way... _

_Likewise, you have my sincerest apologies if this 'story' becomes prosaic in anyway. I understand that there are only so many times a person can say 'penis' before it ceases to be amusing... Hurr... Penis..._

* * *

Seven slowly inched towards the macho pilot who lay sprawled out on a medical bed. She held out her wrist ready to sink her Borg probes into his throbbing python of love.

Paris struggled under the safety restraints that bound him to the bed. His face turned red like blood wine as he managed to free his hands and anxiously cradle his incompetent manhood.

The Doctor rolled his eyes in aggravation, partly amused by Captain Proton's display of cowardice. "Relax Mr. Paris, you'll only feel a tiny prick."

"Ha-ha-ha" Paris sarcastically snarled, "I wasn't aware that I was going to be fully conscious during the procedure!"

"If it means that much to you, I'll be happy to put you under sedation."

"The stronger the better!" Paris snapped as he finally disengaged his hands from his moist crotch.

With that, the Doctor administered a hyper spray of Triazolam while Seven resisted the potent smell of urine to remove his boxer shorts.

The two figures hovering above him blurred into an indistinguishable ensemble of colour as their chatter became increasingly disjointed and sluggish. Latching onto his last moments of consciousness, Paris strained to interpret their dialogue:

"My my, it's like handling a trill symbiont, only 1/10 of the actual scale." Declared the Doctor. "Hm, B'Elanna would most definitely get more pleasure grinding against a Bat'leth."

Seven let out an unusual smirk, "it is a small wonder that Lieutenant Torres chooses to utilise Mr. Neelix as a dil..."

Those were the last words Paris heard before the scene before him dissolved into nothingness.

/

"Here pussy pussy pussy." The familiar sound of his father's voice echoed in the great expanse darkness. The voice repeated itself three times, each 'pussy' getting more raucous in articulation.

Suddenly, Paris found himself in a dimly lit room. He thought that it resembled his childhood bedroom, as he fondly recognised the naval memorabilia adorning the walls.

"Hello there, sailor!" His father's voice continued to stir in the shadows, hissing like a malign serpent.

*clip clop, clip clop*

From the shadows emerged an elderly gentleman mounted on a horse. His hair was grey and balding and his body was stout. He wore a Stetson and a chequered shirt and chomped aggressively on the butt of a cigar.

"Dad... Why are you here... And why are you a cowboy?" Paris croaked; his voice brittle with apprehension.

"To teach you to man the hell up boy! It's about time you act like a rugged space frontiersman instead of some namby-pamby wannabe sailor boy!"

Paris narrowed his eyes, "You're... This... It's not real, is it?"

"Hell no retard, you're in a clichéd drug-induced dream sequence. I represent your pre-conceptions of what it is to be masculine."

Paris let out a chuckle, "so you've come to me dressed up as a cowboy! Weren't they a little... You know... Homoerot..."

"Shut your pie trap boy! Cowboys were REAL men, have you not seen that old film, Brokeback Mountain? It's about two rough and ready macho men spending copious amounts of time in the great outdoors..."

"I've only seen it 72 times!" Paris cut in. Gaining a little courage, he placed his hands on his hips and strove towards the crude caricature of his father. "Anyway, I've always wondered... What was so bad about me wanting to join the Federation Naval Patrol? They have big guns and a boatload of seamen! Wasn't that ever manly enough for you... DAD?"

The two men locked eyes, desperately trying to stare the other down. His father grunted and spat out his cigar butt. He dismounted his horse and placed both hands on the young pilot's shoulders, fanatically shaking him back and forth as he spoke.

"Now listen here sonny... I... I mean, your father, feared that you were..." The elderly man winced, demonstrating a great deal of uneasiness as he spoke. "He feared you were a ga..."

"A gambler? I guess I do like to play bingo once a fortnight in the holodeck, I hardly consider it to be a problem though..."

"No!" His father growled. "He feared that you were a ga..."

"A ___gastroenterologist_? Well, I've always taken an active interest in the gastrointestinal tract..."

"No!" The depiction of Owen Paris shook his imbecilic offspring with considerable force, "what I meant to say is... he didn't want you to be a ga..."

"A gazelle?"

"That doesn't even make sense!" His father roared. Owen held his breath, the colour slowly drained from his face. He closed his eyes and, with an overwhelming sense of regret, exclaimed, "G-A-Y, godamnit... he feared that you were a gay!"

The admiral's declaration of his son's sexuality resonated off the walls of the room, taking considerable time to fade into silence.

'GAY GAY GAY gay gay gay...'

It was the first time anyone had verbalised the word in over 300 years.

For Tom, it seemed so far removed from his timeline that the mere intonation of the word became utterly preposterous. "What!" he cried out, "But there are no 'gays' in the 24th century!"

With a sympathetic nod, his father backed away, giving his son the space he needed to process this entirely unexpected use of vocabulary. "Yes..." Owen whispered, "just look at all the great ships of space history, The Enterprise NX-01, the NCC-1701-A and the NCC-1701-D, there were no reported... gays... serving on any of them. Homosexuality and a progressive future are simply... incompatible."

"Tom, he's lying!" From the shadows emerged the naked figure of Harry Kim. Paris' eyes widened as he found himself utterly entranced by the Korean hunk of spunk. Everything about him was beguiling, from his strapping frame to his well-endowed wang. Paris' eyes never wavered for a second.

"You!" Owen howled like a man possessed. "You're not welcome here, you, you foul yaoi temptress you!"

Harry ignored the rabid exclamations of older gentlemen. "Reed & Tucker, Spock & Kirk, Geordie LaForge & Data, they've all packed a bit of fudge in their time! You just have to read the great annuals of fanfiction to know this!"

"But it's not canon!" Owen protested.

Paris barged past his father to look the naked Korean in the eyes. "Harry... Are you..."

"Real? No! I'm simply a literary plot device used to pad out the narrative in this chapter. I also represent your inner desires, desires that lie deep within your subconscious, serving as a counterpoint to your father. A counterpoint to the way you THINK you should act, or at least, were programmed to..."

"Wow, how very... passé" Paris retorted.

"Isn't it just? El Nombre's getting really sloppy with her writing, she actually thinks that breaking down the forth wall is humorous, not to mention all the instances where she inanely uses the word 'space' as a prefix before nouns to give off the impression of being in the future... Space Viagra, seriously!"

Both men chuckled.

The figure of Owen Paris let out a polite cough, gesturing for the narrative to commence.

"Anyway..." Harry resumed. "I'm here to show you who you were in the past, and what you've been denying yourself in the future."

Paris groaned, "So you're going to take me on a long sequence of flashbacks, could this story get anymore... naff?"

Before he knew it the room was consumed by a bright light, as the two men were transported from one scene to the next. Eventually, the two officers found themselves in a crowded gymnasium. The crowd appeared to be enduring a musical of some variety; drool seeped from the corner of their mouths as they moronically clapped along to the simple melodies. Squinting at the stage, Paris gasped. Before him stood a younger version of himself. He wore highlights in his hair and a glittery lycra catsuit. The teen pirouetted across the stage before manically pelvic thrusting at the other male actors.

"Is... Is that me!" Paris cried out in disbelief.


	5. Chapter 5

"Impressed?" Harry chirped. "You played Space Zach Effron in Space High School Musical; which is akin to a modern version of Space Romeo & Juliet... In Space!"

Paris' eyes remained transfixed on the camp spectacle. "Man... I was annoying!"

"True" Kim concurred. "But it took a lot of guts to get up on that stage... You overcame a lot of adversity. Tom, come with me..."

He took Paris by the hand, leading him into an arbitrary swirling vortex of darkness.

/

The scene changed. They found themselves in an Academy locker room crammed with half-naked jocks; they were young cadets who had just returned from combat training. Some were playfully whipping each other with towels, while others were massaging oil into each others' six packs. Two of the jocks were in audible range:

Generic Jock 1: "Phwoar dude, look at your pectorals, they are simply stunning... No homo..."

Generic Jock 2: "Yeah dude, I can deadlift over 800kg and do over 9000 bench presses. I'm like a Spartan, true masculinity to the max! Hmm, you yourself look well fit... No homo."

Generic Jock 1: "Cool story bro! I can do 50 million press ups in an hour and my dick is 78 inches long. I'm proper hetero like Emperor Hadrian. You have some damn fine biceps. I'd like to wrestle with those fellas... No homo..."

The two jocks high fived and mischievously slapped each other on the bum cheeks.

Paris' eyes were swiftly averted to the younger version of himself. He was busily yapping away to his best friend, Felicity Tittywhiskers, on a space phone.

"Yeah yeah, Jamie Cumbrain is a total hottie! He got me that new album by Space Judy Garland as a present while we were hitting the town in our fitted v-neck t-shirts and pointy leather Italian boots. We drank so many Smirnoff Ices! I was totally lashed darling!"

The two jocks sneered at the flamboyant cadet, unable to mentally process a conversation not centred on the wonders of the male physique. They crossed their arms in indignation.

"Well well, if it isn't that shirt-lifting puffter, Tom Paris. Why don't you go back to France with all the other baguette fondlers!"

Out of the blue, Generic Jock 1 swiped the phone from young Paris' hand while Jock 2 administered a swift blow to the temple that sent the young pilot flying into a nearby locker. The two Neanderthals then cornered the fashionable youth. Older Paris looked on in disgust as they unzipped their trousers and proceeded to urinate all over the boy's chic highlights.

The poor boy lowered his brow, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails drew blood. "One day, I will live in a world where it's okay to be homosexual!"

Generic Jock 2 scoffed, "What do you think this is... the 21st century?"

The nude Korean placed a reassuring hand on his colleague's shoulder, speaking softly into his ear "Just so you know, the persecution you faced, it was not in vain..."

/

In a flash, the scene before them had, predictably, transformed into something different. This time they were in a stadium teeming to the brim with Starfleet officers. All federation races were represented, from Andorians to Zakdorn. It was truly a rainbow alliance of good will.

In the centre, standing tall and erect was an ornate podium festooned with Starfleet logos. A middle-aged human male in admiralty uniform swaggered up to it.

"Ladies, Gentlemen and genderless wasp-potato hybrids, I, Admiral Wayne Kerr present to you the first homosexual in history to be admitted into Starfleet, Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris!"

A rapturous applause filled the stadium. The sky rained down in silver and gold glitter. The podium split into two, filling the vicinity with a neon pink smoke. From it emerged the tanned and stylishly manicured figure of Paris, he was accompanied by a troupe of backing dancers decked out in leather hot pants. They proceeded to perform a 'rousing' song and dance number.

*Being gay is a-okaaaaaaaaaay, just don't listen to what the homophobes saaaaaay.*

The older Paris looked on in horror; words unable to express the wackiness of the display that lay before him.

"O-M-G, it's totally the president of the Federation!" Shrieked some random knave from the audience.

A sharply dressed Bolian man took centre stage, he shook the fabulous Ensign's hand and declared: "Tom Paris, for your services to the inter-galactic community in promoting the recognition of same-gender love, I hereby bestow onto you a special title: Lord of the Gays... Gaylord!"

Another rapturous applause ensued as Paris was handed a crown and diamond encrusted sceptre. Klingon males, finally having come to terms with their sexual impulses, snogged each others' faces off while Ambassador Spock shed tears, unable to repress the euphoria of the moment.

The older Paris grumbled. _How could any of this have been real! _He thought to himself, "dream sequence, mute audio!"

"Wow, I didn't know you could do that, well I guess it is your dream..." Harry murmured.

Paris shook his head in disbelief, "Harry... what is this, really? 1) If this happened in my past, why can't I remember any of it? And 2) assuming it did happened, why is being gay so unheard of in my time?"

Contemplative, Harry paced up and down, all the while stroking his chin.

"Well?" Tom impatiently piped.

"It was about time you started asking questions! In truth... I don't know. I'm only a figment of your subconscious, remember? I've only been able to reveal to you the memories you chose to suppress, or at least, were forced too... I have a feeling, well you do, that all shall be revealed in good time!"

"Well, isn't that just swell? What was once a comical short about my penis has quickly devolved into a mind-fuck of all-out weirdness!" Tom snapped dryly.

Harry raised his eyebrows with an incredulous look. "Hey, this all makes about as much sense as the time you reached warp 10 and, for some reason, mutated into a reptile and had lizard sex with the Captain. OR that time when the Doctor developed a Mr. Hyde personality. OR that time when Neelix and Tuvok were involved in a transporter accident and combined DNA to become Tuvi..."

"I get it! Voyager's weird!" Tom cut in. Visibly stressed, he frantically ran his hand back and forth through his hair. He cast his eyes down on the floor, conveying a degree of timidity in his voice. "Erm, Harry, why was the Tom Paris in these memories so... camp... Do... Do I have to be like that?"

Kim shot his friend a comforting smile and strode towards the podium, geared up to make an inspirational speech of his own.

"The Tom Paris you saw was a pejorative stereotype: effeminate, excessively fashion conscious and ostentatious in personality. That... that archetype and homosexuality... They're not the same. No one is forcing you to be that person. Likewise no one is forcing you to be a pig-headed, deeply insecure jock with such burgeoning machismo that borders on homoerotic." Harry enthusiastically pointed towards a now bewildered Paris. "YOU, Thomas Eugene Paris, YOU are your own gay! Now, go forth and bugger in whatever manner you choose!"

"Wow... What do I say...?" Paris stuttered. "That's probably the most sensible thing El Nombre has scripted in the last 3000 words of this tripe. But, the only thing is... I'm not a gay!"

Harry let out an audible tut; he rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips in a diva-like fashion. "Tom, Tom Tom... Are you forgetting? I am your desires! And I know for a fact that you're a friend of Dorothy, or to be more specific, a stromo."

"Look." Paris retorted, "I have no idea what those things are, but I can ensure you that I like vaginas... I like insert my penis into pussies, vajajays, tooties, hooh-has, snatches, cooters Captain Janeways, varmuda triangles..."

Harry held up his hand, silencing the babbling bafoon.

"5 minutes ago, just 5 minutes ago you were thinking 'I hope Harry's tight Marmite Mine can accommodate my massive Beef Bayonet...' Doesn't the mere fact that you imagined me, i.e. YOUR DESIRES, as a stark naked Harry Kim with a colossal Wang indicate anything to you?"

Tom blushed, eyes rooted to the ground in front of him. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Well... Maybe... Maybe I am..."

"A manly heterosexual male!" The figure of Owen Paris stormed onto the scene skilfully wielding a Bat'leth.

"I can't believe this!" Harry roared. Frustration riddled in his voice.

All of a sudden, a Bat'leth materialised in Kim's hands. With a ferocious roar, Owen charged at the unclothed Korean. With cat-like reflexes, Harry deflected the attack just in time. A contemptuous Owen staggered backwards, spat on the ground and charged forwards once again. A clanging of metal filled the air as the two unlikely warriors did battle.

"H-Harry, what's going on...?" Stammered a confused Paris.

"The two sides of you, your desires and your inhibitions, they're fighting for control!" Harry ducked under a wild sweep of Owen's blade. "This will only end once you accept who you really are!"

"An ESPN watching, whiskey drinking, sammich ordering, bird shagging man!" Avowed Owen.

Owen gained the upper hand, administering a kick to Harry's abdomen that sent the exposed Oriental crashing to the ground. Hovering over his wriggling body, he held one of the razor sharp edges of the blade to the handsome Korean's face. "When will you learn, none of this homosexuality rubbish, none of this is canon!"

"No..." Tom conceded, retrieving Harry's discarded blade, "THIS. IS. FANFICTION!" With one clean sweep of the Klingon weapon he decapitated his inhibition.

Clambering to his feet, Harry beamed like a Cheshire cat. "Wow, Tom, I never thought you had it in you... does this mean...?"

Oblivious to the fact that the scene before him was now disappearing into a sea of white light, Paris held his head high, puffed out his chest, and triumphantly declared. "Yes Harry... I'm here, I'm queer, get used to it!"

/

The white light faded to reveal the droning greys of Voyager's interior. Still groggy from his sedative, Tom squinted to discern his surroundings. Peering above him were two very shocked faces, mouths held agape in witness of the Lieutenant's 'new found' sexuality.

The Doctor frantically scanned the liberated Lieutenant with his medical tricorder. "Remarkable... These scans show increased levels of homosexuality in his DNA. A rainbow-like formation is forming in his molecular structure!"

"Wow... For a Doctor you really don't know much about rudimentary biology, also, for your information, you don't BECOME gay, I've always been this way, and it's about time the whole crew knew... Wowser"

Paris was distracted by the sight of his newly formed cyber-cock. It was truly a monumental sight to behold! He traced the elongated shaft from top to bottom. Green-tinted veins embellished its muscly body, emitting a strange yet alluring glow. It stood proudly to attention, tall and erect like the mountains of Andoria, ready to penetrate any pantheon of Gods who dared to stand in its way.

Seven couldn't help but feel a degree of satisfaction, having been a prime factor in the creation of Paris' super-Wang. "To use an archaic Earth saying... I have 'pimped' your penis."

"It's great!" Tom elatedly exclaimed.

"Perhaps later I can demonstrate to you how to use the built in stereo sound system and Jacuzzi." She added.

Tom beamed, never in his life had he been so happy since he discovered Ricky Martin in the Ship's music database. "Man... I've got to take this baby for a spin! Harry Kim here I com..."

Before he could finish Paris was cut off by the thunderous sound of pounding feet. The whole of sickbay quaked with the impact of the strange force. Test tubes and PADDs crashed onto the floor. Attempting to remain upright, Seven and the Doctor held onto nearby medical beds.

"Doctor to Janeway, can you tell me what on earth is going on here?"

"Don't get in my way Doc, there's a hot rod in Sickbay I'm dying to tryout!"

"Captain?" What are you talk..."

All of a sudden a flood of wild women crashed through the walls of sickbay, their features adorning a crazed and lecherous look. Leading the group was none other than Captain Janeway. She strode seductively towards the medical bed where a terrified Paris sat clutching at the bed covers like a toddler startled by night terrors.

She tore the front of her uniform like a she-hulk, revealing a pair of greying saggy breasticles. Positioning herself on the bed she leant over the blonde Lieutenant, kneading his arms with her nails and purring like a wild cat. "Mmm, Mistress Janeway wants a bit of rumpty tumpty... She's not had it in such a long time." The forty-something woman groaned as she proceeded to dry hump his leg.

The Doctor, trying to hold back his holographic vomit edged in closer to the two, near enough to get a reading on his tricorder. "Strange... The nanoprobes in his penis seem to be emitting some kind of techtronic wave that forces Paris' body to emit substantial levels of sex pheromones and stimulate tumescence and clitoral erection in females..." The Doctor exchanged surprised looks with Seven. "His Penis..."

"Has become too efficient!" Seven exclaimed.


End file.
